


The Great Rite

by Scheherezade06



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fictional Religion & Theology, Loss of Virginity, Mildly Dubious Consent, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2032113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scheherezade06/pseuds/Scheherezade06
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tribal CS AU: Swan, daughter of the chieftain, is chosen as the Living Goddess for her village's Planting Festival. Unbeknownst to her, Hook, her childhood friend, is chosen as the Sun Sword. The two must enact the fertility ritual to ensure a bountiful harvest for the village after many years of drought</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sun Sword Revealed

In a land plagued by drought, a tiny village holds tight to the stretch of farmable land beside the dwindling River of Many Tales.  The village chieftain, Charming Shepherd, is lauded for his fairness and wisdom.  His wife, Skin-of-Snow, is reknown for her beauty and skill as a hunter, rivalling even the men.  The chieftain and his wife have one maiden daughter, a strong-willed beauty called Defiant Swan.  

Each year, the village elders, She-Who-Holds-Hearts and Spinner-of-Gold, secretly select one maiden and one man to represent the Living Goddess and Sun Sword in the sacred Planting Festival.  

In the Year of the Cobra, Defiant Swan was chosen as Living Goddess.

Skin-of-Snow pleaded with her daughter to submit herself fully to the chosen man to ensure the gods be appeased and end the drought that had dwindled the River of Many Tales to a level lower than even ancient Spinner-of-Gold had seen in all his years.  Defiant Swan frowned and gnashed her teeth, but in the end, she realized she must do her duty for the sake of the village.

When the appointed day came, Defiant Swan held her tongue as the village priestesses scrubbed and anointed her skin with scented oils.  They stained her lips with berries and rubbed colored powders into her long, pale hair.  

Star-of-Fireflies, a dark haired priestess, smiled at Defiant Swan and murmured to her how brave she was and how beautiful.  Sound-of-the-Bell, a priestess with hair almost as pale as that of Defiant Swan, carefully plaited the maiden’s long tresses, winding it around the cords that would hold up her elaborate headdress and mask.  The head priestess, Blue Mother, painted elaborate swirls and sacred symbols on Swan’s naked chest, arms, and legs.  Once the paint was dry, the ritual loincloth, red as blood, was tied in place.  The golden Chalice of Earth hung heavy at the front of her meager garment.  The weight of it pulling down the cloth to reveal a hint of the dark blonde curls above Swan’s sex.

When the decorations were complete, Blue Mother nodded, examining Defiant Swan.  She called for a cadre of virile priests to carry Defiant Swan out to the front of the temple.  When the young men were assembled on the other side of the curtain, Blue Mother lowered the ritual mask to cover Swan’s features and pulled the straps tight through the intricate knots in her hair.  Blue Mother tied off the cords with quick, precise motions.

Swan found the eye slits, which barely granted her any sight at all.  The mask smelled strange and sweet, and it was heavy, tapping her against the forehead and cheekbones with each step of the men who lifted her and bore her the short distance to the front of the temple.

The man chosen to represent the Sun Sword already stood on the dias, regal in his golden bodypaint.  His mask and headdress hid his identity completely.  His own loincloth, black as pitch, was adorned with the phallic scabbard that housed the actual Sun Sword.  The golden relic hung heavy between his legs as he stood in a wide stance, his shoulders flung back, his hands in fists on each hip, his arms akimbo.  His head moved, his hidden eyes following Defiant Swan as she was carried forward.  When the chanting priests lifted Swan to the dais, the Sun Sword strode to the edge of the platform, holding out his hands to her.

Defiant Swan let the unknown man lift her to the platform and turn her toward the crowd.  The assembled sea of people took up the chant from the priests as the priestesses joined the audience.  Together, Living Goddess and Sun Sword raised their hands to the sky in supplication.

Defiant Swan felt strangely giddy as the Sun Sword guided her to the altar layered with animal hides.  He lifted her by her hips and set her on the altar.  Swan leaned back against the skins, the rough fur of many beasts scratching her naked back.  She let her legs fall wide, leaving room for the Chalice of Earth to rest between her thighs.  She could not see the Sun Sword, but she knew from years of observing the ritual that he was making the gestures to coincide with the blessing being chanted by the crowd.  The rhythmic words washed over her, sounding strangely hypnotic:

_Bless the ground to give us grain_  
Bless the sky to give us rain  
Bless the womb to give us sons  
Bless the hunters on their runs

She felt the Sun Sword’s approach, and though she knew the public coupling would only be symbolic, she felt strangely tense.  Something brushed the inside of her knee, and she stifled a gasp.  Defiant Swan heard and felt the sing of metal sliding along metal as the Sun Sword slid his sheath into the Chalice of Earth.  When the sacred items were joined, Swan felt pressure against her own chalice, where the avatar of the Sun would later enter her with his true sword.  She felt a shiver go through her body, but she couldn’t say if it was anticipation or anxiety.  She felt oddly detached from what was going on around her.  

The Sun Sword withdrew and then stepped forward again, making the relics ring against each other, pressing more firmly this time.  The avatar pulled back and thrust forward again, and this time Swan couldn’t help but arch her hips as the back of the chalice intimately pressed against her.

With the third symbolic coupling complete, the Sun Sword took Swan’s hands and pulled her to her feet.  A group of priests and priestesses mounted the dais and herded Swan and the Sun Sword into the temple and down the stone stair into the ritual room called the Womb of the River.  Once the soon-to-be lovers were through the archway, the heavy door was closed and barred, locking them in until the following midday.  

Feeling somewhat overwhelmed, Defiant Swan glanced around the room, taking in as much detail as she could through the thin slits in her mask.  The sacred chamber below the temple was lit by the wan light of candles spread throughout the room and filled with altars designed for carnal purpose.  Plush cushions had been arranged in one corner of the room for resting.  Swan blinked, her vision blurring briefly.  To the left of the sealed doorway, a low shelf was piled with fruits, nuts, dried meats, and pitchers of spiced wine: Foods designed to provide stamina for the night ahead…

Swan drew a ragged breath.  Her pulse seemed to be speeding of its own volition.

"Be unafraid, lass," said the Sun Sword in a disturbingly familiar voice.  

As the chieftain’s daughter, Swan knew most everyone in the small village.  She’d known from the moment she was chosen that her partner for the night would be a man with whom she was acquainted.

But that voice.  

Her brain was foggy, but she would recognize his voice anywhere.  She’d heard it since she was a child (though the timbre of it had changed much over the years).  He had been her confidant, her accomplice, her informant, and her snitch.  They’d been inseparable until the death of his older brother, when he’d grown sullen and withdrawn, keeping mostly to the river and his little boat.

"Hook?" Swan asked in a shaking, slurred voice.  She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or apprehensive.  Her head was spinning wildly.  

In an elegant motion, the Sun Sword avatar threw off his headdress, revealing a pair of wide sapphire eyes and a mane of unruly raven hair.  It had been over a year since Defiant Swan had seen the prodigy fisherman, He-Who-Wields-the-Flashing-Hook, and the year had been very kind to his form and face.  Beneath his ritual paint, his chest and arms were strong and lean.  His stomach was trim and defined by hard-earned muscles.  His thighs showed strength they previously hadn’t possessed.  Working the river had hardened Swan’s childhood friend.  He was a very fitting avatar for the Lord of the Sky.

Flashing-Hook’s mouth fell open as his gaze covered Swan from the top of her elaborate headdress to the straps of her leather sandals.  He seemed to be just as surprised as she, though he did not seem to suffer from the strange drunkenness Swan felt.

"Defiant Swan?" Hook whispered, licking his lips.

Swan tried to remove her own mask, but the fastenings were tied into her hair.  She felt like she was suffocating behind the hardened clay faceplate.  She clawed at the bindings as her breathing accelerated.  Her vision swam around the narrow slits through which she could see.

"I cannot… breathe," she gasped as she swayed on her feet.  

"Swan!" She thought she heard Flashing-Hook exclaim.

Everything turned sideways and then faded to black.


	2. The Altar of Earth and Sky

"Welcome back," a soft, masculine voice said when Swan stirred again.  Her scalp was tender and a cool, damp cloth was draped across her eyes.  Thankfully, the stifling mask had been removed.

"I…" She started, but she still felt confused and woozy.  What had come over her?  She tried to sit up, but a hand on her shoulder pressed her back down to the pillows.  

"Relax," Hook soothed.  He touched her wrist with calloused fingers.  "I removed your headdress, though I fear I took some of your hair in the process.  The inside of your mask was coated with powdered nightshade… I, I think it was there to make you… compliant."

His voice twisted into a disgusted growl at the last word.

Swan gasped.  She raised a hand to her face and pulled the damp cloth from her eyes.

“The priestesses…” Swan said, confused and upset.

“The elders, more-like,” Hook said gently.   

“ _Gold_ ,” Swan hissed between clenched teeth.

She began to sit up again and this time Hook made no move to stop her.  She felt suddenly self-conscious, and she tried to discreetly take inventory of herself as she shifted her position.  The painted symbols across her chest and stomach were intact, though her left flank was smeared with gold.  Flicking her eyes up, Swan saw that Flashing-Hook’s golden paint was smeared, too.  He must have caught her when she lost consciousness.  But the intact paint on her body mean one thing: He hadn’t touched her.

Swan wasn’t surprised.  She had always trusted him, but they hadn’t spoken in months, and he was the Sun Sword.  He could have taken her while she lay unconscious and it would not have been a crime.

“How long did I sleep?” she asked, looking at him through her eyelashes.    

“Not long,” he murmured.  “Once the mask was free, your breathing eased.”

His eyes roved over her again, and Swan felt a blush rise in her cheeks.  She had been reunited with her old friend for a purpose.  

“How do we..?” she began to ask, unsure where her question might lead.

“Rest,” he said.  “There is no rush.”

“He-Who-Wields—” she began again, but he cut her off.

“Please,” he said with a hint of a smile.  “We have known one another long enough to set aside formality, have we not?”

She felt the corners of her mouth curve up at his gentle teasing.  At the same time, she felt an ache in her heart.  She’d missed him.

“Hook,” she said in a slightly dreamy voice, falling back against the cushions with a sigh.  Maybe she was still under the effect of the nightshade.  “I’m glad it was you.”    

He inhaled sharply.

“Swan,” he said in a low, reverent tone.  

She heard him shift his weight, and then trembling fingers brushed her cheek.  She brought her hand up to capture his against her as she turned to kiss his palm.  He let out a little groan at that.  He repeated her name, so softly it was as though his breath naturally formed the word with each exhale.

“It could only be you,” he whispered.  “There is no other… for me.”

It was Swan’s turn to gasp.  The words warmed her, but the implication was startling.

“But the Great Rite!” Swan protested, pushing herself up onto her elbows.  “If it had been another maiden—”

“I would have hid behind my mask and thought of you,” he said, with a tiny, self-deprecating smile before he looked down for a moment..  He leaned forward, arching over her to meet her eyes.  “My Swan… How I’ve missed you.”

“I’m here now,” she said, holding his gaze.  She surprised herself with her boldness, though she’d never been afraid of pursuing what she desired.  It felt different when the desire was a person.  She favored him with what she hoped was a coy smile.

He surged above her, moving to claim her lips.  

The golden sheath hanging from his belt clanged against the chalice nestled between Swan’s thighs, and she couldn’t help but laugh.  He drew back and joined her in her nervous merriment, raising one hand to scratch behind his ear.  It was a gesture Swan was quite familiar with.

“I missed you, too,” she said.  She sat up and leaned toward him, lightly settling her fingers over his heart.  She flicked her eyes up to his, feeling warmth spread through her at his expression.  

“We have a long night before us, dear one,” she said.  ”Shall we begin?”

 “As you wish,” he replied.  He pulled her to her feet as he stood.  Together they walked to the first of the various altars.  It was a perfect replica of the main altar on the dais in front of the temple.  As he had there, Hook lifted Swan and set her on the edge of the fur-covered slab.  She brazenly reached forward and grasped the golden sheath hanging from his belt.

“I have long wondered how a sword of light looks,” she mused.

“Like any other cock,” Hook said with a chuckle.

“What?” she asked, blinking up at him in confusion.

“There is no sword,” he explained.  “The relic is hollow.”

“ _You_  are within it?” she asked with wide eyes.  

“I am,” he said, bringing his fingers up to trace her cheek again.  

He leaned forward, and this time their lips met.  Hook slid his fingers to the back of her neck and Swan arched into him, pressing her decorated breasts to his painted chest.  They both moaned at the contact, and his other hand gripped her hip possessively.  As they kissed, Swan explored the sheath encasing Hook’s cock.  She found the buckle and carefully undid it, pulling the golden scabbard up and away from his body.  The fastening also held his loincloth, and the fabric fell away with the barest whisper.  Swan set the sheath aside before turning to examine what it had concealed.

Her first thought was that it must have pained him to wear the sheath.  She didn’t know how his cock had even fit inside it.  

“Eager to have this over with, my Goddess?” he teased, his fingers lightly brushing the fastenings of her loincloth.

“Eager to begin,” she replied, slipping her fingers between his to pull the cord that held the Chalice and her garment in place.  

He nimbly caught the priceless artifact that Swan would have let fall in her haste.  He scooped up the sheath that she had set aside and thrust the golden phallus into the chalice.  Once joined, he placed the pair of ornaments on the end of the wide altar. Swan’s loincloth joined Hook’s on the floor, and he surged forward, reclaiming her mouth as his naked sword grazed her virgin chalice.  He shifted his hips, rubbing against her, and she gasped, loving the way his velvet flesh slid between her slick folds.

She pulled back from his kiss and blinked dilated eyes.

“We have… to say… the words,” she panted, arching against him as he dragged his length across her center.

He chuckled darkly before speaking.

“Does the Living Goddess accept the Sun Sword?” he intoned, nudging the head of his cock into her.

“Yes,” she gasped, rocking against him.  “May the seeds sown this night become a bountiful harvest.”

Hook kissed her again, drinking her moan as he buried his cock inside her.  She wanted to cry out, to say his name, but to speak again before the coupling was complete would be a bad omen.  So Swan let Hook plunder her mouth as he plundered her cunt.  

She’d known from an early age that the claiming of her virginity would involve pain.  Blue Mother had reiterated it to her when she’d checked for Swan’s maidenhead after Gold chose her as Living Goddess.  But the sharp tear of her innocence and the unfamiliar stretch of Hook’s cock did not do much to diminish her joy in performing the act with the man she’d grown to care for and respect.  

And soon even that discomfort washed away as her body fell into the ancient rhythm of sky and earth.  Swan fell back from Hook’s embrace, laying on the pale deerskins, letting the short fur steal the paint from her back.  She touched herself, and Hook quickly joined her, cupping her breasts and tending to her aching nipples.  Swan slid one hand down to where they were joined and pressed her fingers to her secret spot: The place she stroked in the dark of night while she conjured images of the man now thrusting inside her.  She raised her legs and wrapped them around his hips, urging him on without using forbidden words.  

The wet sounds of their sacred union filled the room, punctuated by the occasional gasp or grunt.  Skin-of-Snow had told her that the first coupling wouldn’t last long, so Swan pleasured herself vigorously, desperately chasing the ecstasy of release.  

Her climax arrived all at once, with shaking knees and a stuttering exhalation that sounded almost like a whimper.  Hook grunted, her pleasure clearly affecting him.  His rhythm faltered, and his hands fell away from her breasts to clutch the altar instead.  He leaned forward and ground hard into her, his cock feeling suddenly larger in her sensitive quim.  

She moaned at the new, overwhelming sensation.  Hook’s hips jerked, and he thrust his cock into her twice more before he stilled, his face contorting into a beautiful grimace as he writhed for a handful of heartbeats.  Then he exhaled, and it seemed as if the breath had been holding him up.  He sagged, his entire body collapsing over her and the altar.

“The seeds,” he gasped a few moments later, “are sown.”

“The seeds are sown,” she echoed, completing the ritual.  She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed his sweat-beaded temple as she stroked his hair.

"That is one," Hook said after a moment.

Swan couldn’t help but look at the other altars.  She knew there were twelve, and the more altars utilized, the better the omens would be for the season.

Snow had also told Swan that the Sun Sword would need to rest between couplings to regain his vigor and stamina.  

"Shall we eat?" Swan murmured tugging lightly on his hair, “to regain our strength?”

"Would that I could," Hook murmured into her neck, "I would simply hold you all night."

Swan’s lips pulled up into a warm smile.

"Flatterer," Swan said in an amused tone.  "Are you already bored of the coupling?"

"Hardly," he said with a huff of breath, drawing back to look down at her.  "I merely wish it was at our leisure instead of prescribed."

"Mm," Swan replied.  She pinched his ear, tugging on it as a child might do their playmate.  "How should I have offered you a lover’s wreath when you never come to the village?"

Hook lazily swatted her hand away.

"If I’d known you had any such intention,” he said with a strange combination of quirked lips and serious eyes, “I would have set my damned boat aflame and stood outside your door until you plaited the garland.”  His voice dropped to a whisper.  “I swore years ago to be yours if you but asked."

Swan’s brow crinkled.

"But then you disappeared," she breathed.  "I could not proposition you while you grieved."

"True," he said with a sad sigh.  "Many apologies, Goddess."

He took her hand and kissed her palm as a supplicant would a priestess.  

"Fetch me a goblet of wine, Sun Sword," Swan said, gesturing idly with her free hand in what she hoped resembled a priestess’ aloof manner.

"I live to serve you," Hook intoned, touching his forehead and then his chest in the subservient salute of acolytes and novices for their superiors.  

“Go, go,” Swan said, making a shooing motion.

Hook took a step back, and they both groaned as he slipped from her.  Swan immediately sat up and leaned forward.  She winced as she clenched her abdominal muscles, doing what her mother had told her to make certain the evidence of the coupling stained the pale deerskin thrown over the altar.

When she slid down from the paint- and sex-smeared perch, she felt the soreness in her chalice.  It reminded her that this was a night duty and obligation.  She sighed as she limped across to the cushions and low shelf of refreshments.  Hook sank gracefully to the cushions beside her, holding a goblet forth.  Swan took it and drank deep, knowing the wine would dull the tenderness of her sex.  

She felt strangely comfortable, reclining naked with Hook.  Nudity was not something unknown to them; they had swam together in the river countless times as children.  But when they reached the age of majority, the responsibilities of their new positions in the village had limited their time to be with one another.  And then Hook’s brother had died.  

But the gods saw fit to reunite them, and Swan could not be more pleased.

Hook refilled Swan’s goblet, and she thanked him.  She let her eyes refocus behind him as she thoughtfully chewed on a piece of dried meat.  Twelve altars, and the doors were locked from sunset until noon.  It was impossible to complete all the acts.  

“How many—” Swan said, the words leaving her lips before she could restrain herself.  It was too easy to speak plain with Hook, even when she should probably hold her tongue.

Hook choked on his wine, his eyes going wide.  He coughed and sputtered, taking a few moments to regain his composure.

His overreaction amused Defiant Swan.

“Each coupling is said to please to gods more than the last,” she teased in a coy tone.  “All of the womenfolk have told me the number will be up to you,  _Sun Sword_ … I’ve been instructed to be very agreeable.”

“Very agreeable,” Hook echoed, his voice shaking.  His eyes roved over her as she took another sip from her goblet.  He cleared his throat, and then a mischievous smirk lit his face.  “What sorcery have they concocted to make Defiant Swan ‘agreeable’?  That word has never hiked on the same side of the river as do you.”

Swan smiled at his warm taunt.

“I believe the sorcery was choosing you for Sun Sword,” she declared, setting aside her goblet of wine and rising to her knees to stalk toward Flashing-Hook like a predatory cat.  “How many altars do you intend to mount this night, He-Who-Wields-the-Flashing-Hook?”

Hook set aside his goblet as well, his eyes dilating at her approach.

“At least two,” he said in a thick voice.

“Only two?” Swan replied, stopping her forward movement to raise an eyebrow at him.

“At  _least_ two,” he repeated, reaching for her with a mischievous grin.  “Ask me again, after the second altar.”


	3. The Altar of the Hunter

Swan smiled as she took Hook’s hand.  He pulled her toward him and claimed her mouth, kissing her passionately.  She melted into his embrace, finding his body ready to perform again.  She moaned and brazenly wrapped her fingers his rigid length.  

“Mm,” he said, breaking the kiss at her contact.  “Does the Living Goddess have a preference?”

He tossed his head, casting a glance over his shoulder at the eleven varied options for their coupling.  Each altar was constructed differently, symbolizing a different spirit, force, or element to be supplicated.  The first altar, the prescribed one, symbolized the holy union of the Earth and Sky.

Swan let her eyes trail over the various options.  

“Hm,” she said.  “Perhaps we should inspect them?”

“As you wish,” he said, rising smoothly and pulling her with him.  He let her lead as they wandered through the chamber.  Closest to the Altar of the Earth and Sky, they found the simple Altar of the Hunter.  The priestesses had explained to her that she would drape herself across the sloping mound of animal skins so that the Sun Sword could mount her from behind like a wild beast.  Walking past that, they came to the curious Altar of the Priestess, where the Sun Sword had to lie on his back as the Living Goddess mounted  _him_.  The hammock that served as the Altar of Winds swayed gently as Swan ran her hand up the braided ropes.  Near the back of the room, a shallow pool created the Altar of Inundation, representing the annual flooding of the farmlands beside the river.  The Altar of Tall Grain required both avatars to remain standing during the coupling, and the Altar of the Woven Basket involved them both sitting with legs folded around one another in an intimate embrace.

Skin-of-Snow had counselled Defiant Swan to convince the Sun Sword to approach the altars of male stamina first, so that when his vigor was slacking, she could continue the rite while he was able to relax.  On that notion, Swan led Hook to the Altar of The Hunter, the only altar in the room that required her to lie still.  Hook seemed surprised by her choice, but he covered his startled exhalation with a groan of anticipation.

Swan moved to mount the altar, but Hook pulled her back, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her again.  Swan responded eagerly for a moment before pulling away.  There would be time for kisses later.  Skipping free of Hook’s embrace, Swan glanced at him over her shoulder as she climbed up to kneel on the altar.  She leaned forward so that her hips were held aloft by the fur-covered wooden structure.  She braced her knees, taking the pressure off her hips, and put the weight of her upper body on her forearms.  

“Blood and ashes, Swan,” Hook choked out, his right hand curling around his rigid shaft.  “You look…”

He trailed off into an inarticulate groan as he stepped forward and brushed the head of his cock against her.  She was tender, but also eager.  

“Words,” she gasped.  “Say the words.”

“May the hunters’ aim be true,” he intoned, nudging against her entrance.

Swan’s breath hitched.

“May the beasts be plentiful and strong,” Swan said, turning to rest her cheek against a sleek layer of leather.  The furs thrown over the lower portion of the altar tickled her thighs.

Hook thrust forward, burying himself inside her, and Swan bit her lip hard to keep from crying out.  He ground his hips into her, and she couldn’t help but moan.  As he pressed her down, Swan could feel a small ridge of the altar beneath the deerskins, and it rubbed against her secret spot.  With her weight on her forearms, Swan’s breasts swung free, her nipples brushing the bristly animal fur.  She had assumed she would take no pleasure at the Altar of the Hunter.  She was glad to mistaken.

Hook pulled back and slammed forward greedily, his hand gripping her hips.  Swan moaned again, giving him the only verbal appreciation she was allowed.  He answered her, a deep groan rising from his chest as he rutted against her, chasing his pleasure.  He loosened his grip and stroked her flank, sliding his fingers up her back and down to palm the curve of her ass.  She moaned again, and he increased his speed, fucking her with abandon, as prescribed by the altar.  

Swan closed her eyes, giving in to the sensation of Hook’s ravishing cock and the animal furs teasing her breasts and core.  It was very different from the times she touched herself, pleasant, but Swan did not feel the tide rising within her as she had before.  Her mother had told her not to assume she would be pleasured this night.  Swan didn’t mind; there were still many opportunities for her to find release before the morning.  She focused on the way Hook’s body shook against her, his breathing ragged and hot.  She revelled in the little noises he made as he thrust into her, as though each press forward was more satisfying than the last and each withdrawal was heartbreaking to him.  She savored the feel of his hands ghosting over her flesh and then gripping her tight, sliding smoothly and then digging in, as though he couldn’t decide how best to touch her.

His movements became more and more erratic, his hips stuttering against hers.  After one particularly enthusiastic thrust, he pulled back far enough to completely remove himself from her body.  They both whimpered at the loss, and in his haste to re-enter her, he nearly invaded a different chamber.  She shook her hips as he pressed the door of her rear passage, vocalizing as best she could in hums and hisses.  He realized his mistake before gaining access, but he did not pull away immediately.  Instead, he held his position, even nudging forward just once more before he slipped down to bury himself inside her quim.  The near miss seemed to have excited him greatly, and he fucked her harder, his breathing ragged, for a handful of thrusts before grinding forward and shuddering.  He groaned and rutted shallowly for a moment before leaning forward, his hands landing on either side of her waist.  

“His aim is true,” Swan said, completing the rite of the altar.

“Mm, his aim is true,” Hook repeated in a breathless voice.  He pulled away with a soft whine, stumbling back to the part of the room designated for rest.

Swan rose to her knees, using her fingers to transfer the proof of their coupling from her center to the deerskins, smearing it into the fur along the highest point of the altar.  She climbed down, wincing only slightly.  She was surprised that she seemed no more sore for the second coupling than she was the first.  She crossed the room on silent feet, sucking her fingers as she went to clean the salty tang from them.  When she stepped near to Hook, he grabbed her hand and pulled her down to him, making her cry out and laugh.  He kissed her lazily, running his fingers along her shoulder.  His breathing was still uneven, and he was covered in a sheen of sweat.

“Are you done with me, my Sun Sword?” Swan teased, stroking his stomach and admiring his sated cock.

“Hardly,” he said with a chuckle.  He cupped her sex, slipping his fingers between her folds.  Swan gasped when he found her secret spot and began rubbing it with his fingertips.

“Ask the question, my Goddess,” he murmured as he pleasured her.  

“How… many—oh!—how many altars?” she stammered, writhing against his touch.

“At least three, Defiant Swan,” he said, and then he captured her mouth with his.


	4. The Altar of Winds

He kissed her hungrily, drinking in her moans and whimpers.  She cried out in protest as he withdrew his hand from between her legs.  

“I have chosen our next altar, my Goddess,” Hook said, scooping Swan up from her place on the floor.  

“Have you?” she asked, her brow rising with curiosity.  His body had been unready a moment before.  And her mother had explained that men need time between couplings to regain their strength.  

“Aye,” he growled, stalking directly toward the braided ropes suspended from the ceiling.  He deposited her into the hammock and then began arranging her limbs, spreading her legs wide and slipping them between the gaps in the net-like mesh of the Altar of Winds.  

Swan sagged against the ropes.  They were rough against her naked skin, but there were many cords, so her weight was distributed among them.  No individual strand cut into her flesh.  

Hook wound her legs in ropes, binding them in position.  Then he similarly threaded her arms between the woven cords, leaving her restrained with her arms and legs cast wide.  When she was completely bound, she looked at him, finding his sword still lying between his thighs, soft and sated.  She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow at him in silent question, knowing she should not speak when on the altar.  

“May the winds bring fortune,” Hook growled and his hungry eyes roved over her.

“May the winds come gently,” Swan recited back in mild confusion.

But then Hook dropped to his knees and buried his face between her thighs, his tongue darting out to taste her secret spot.

She cried out wordlessly then clamped her mouth shut, swallowing the words she wished to say.  

Defiant Swan had overheard village women discussing this act, but she’d not thought it would occur this night.   _ Drinking from the chalice _ could produce no offspring, so it was not required in the fertility rite.  And yet the Sun Sword knelt before her, eagerly lapping, and she felt more like a goddess than she had on any of the other altars.

She reached for him, to clutch his hair, but her arms were bound.  She whined in frustration and writhed, but He-Who-Wields-the-Flashing-Hook was skilled with nets.  She knew she could free her arms if she devoted her attention to that task, but she had no true ambition to that purpose.  Instead, she threw her head back against the cords and moaned through clenched teeth, knowing she could give no words to the pleasure he bestowed upon her.

The attention was maddening.  After a few moments, Swan grew certain that Hook was playing with her.  She lifted her head to look down at him and found him looking up through thick lashes.  His mouth curved into a grin as he met her eyes.  He flicked his tongue again and then withdrew, rising to his feet.  She whimpered in protest until she caught sight of his cock, hard and ready.  She threw her head back again, wriggling against the ropes.  She wanted to shout for him to come closer, but he took his time, delicately running his fingers over her and drawing out her inarticulate pleas until he finally,  _ finally _ closed the distance and sheathed himself fully.  They both cried out, tender and desperate.

Hook used the hammock to his advantage, pulling her to him and letting the ropes take her weight.  The angle made the act completely different, which surprised Swan.  She’d assumed each coupling would feel the same, but she was wrong.  She pulled against her restraints again, wishing to pursue her sensual release.  She whimpered when she yet again realized she was deliciously trapped.  She whined, catching Hook’s eye, and then deliberately cast her gaze down to where they were joined.  She looked up again and pleaded silently for him to understand.

He did, and he brought his hand between them.  She let him know with sighs and moans when he’d found her secret spot.  Once he was rubbing her firmly, she threw her head back again and reveled in the strange joy of being helpless to him ministrations.

She knew it was an illusion.  She could free herself.  She could tell him to stop.  He’d listen.  But the fantasy that she was truly bound and his to take made her giddy.

When she crashed over the edge, she screamed her ecstasy, and he followed with a shout of his own.  He sagged against her, and the hammock took their combined weight for a moment, the cords finally cutting into her flesh.  She winced, and he immediately withdrew, dropping to his knees again and laying his cheek to her belly.  He kissed her navel and then murmured into the curls at her chalice:

“The winds blow favorably.”

“The winds blow favorably,” she echoed in a thick voice.

He rested against her for a long moment, and Swan almost found sleep.  She stirred when he rose and began unbinding her.  She looked up at him as he lifted her from the hammock and carried her gently back to the lounging corner.  She fell bonelessly to the cushions, letting her eyes drift closed again.  She listened as he sipped from his glass of wine, and then she hummed appreciatively as he lay beside her.  

“I’ve dreamed of catching you in my nets,” he murmured into her ear before he nipped the lobe of it.

“You have me ensnared, Hook,” she replied breathlessly, rolling into his side.  She gazed at him for a moment, and his expression was expectant.  She smiled an amused smile before she asked: “How many altars?”

“At least four, my goddess,” he replied in a heavy, sleepy voice.  “At least four.”


End file.
